From Lies to Truth And Everything In Between
by KSlycke
Summary: This one is my own. The sequel to The Road Goes on Forever it follows the story of Low Light, Beachhead, Cover Girl, Vorona, General Hawk, Spirit and the OC Trick Shot in the aftermath of The Highwaymen.
1. Fine Again

From Lies to Truth and Everything In Between

This one is my own.

The sequel to The Road Goes on Forever it follows the story of Low Light, Beachhead, Cover Girl, Vorona, General Hawk, Spirit and the OC Trick Shot in the aftermath of The Highwaymen.

The usual disclaimer: don't own, not making a profit

Chapter One

Fine Again

1800

No one really knew what happened the night God disappeared. The sniper known as Pete Anderson simply vanished in thin air. The official report would either list the man as missing and presumed dead or missing and presumed armed. As for the only two witnesses that could account for what happened neither one said a word. They denied any knowledge. That was as far as it went. In a system with far too many homicides, suicides, and missing persons than resources the local jurisdiction was more than happy to turn the matter over to military justice.

That was where General Hawk found himself. . Not only did he have to deal with a missing sniper and legend he had to deal with Sharon Dixon. She was Trick Shot's mother and General Hawk's former lover. There were still questions to be asked but Cooper MacBride and Michael Dixon didn't answer. The locals were frustrated. It only took a four star General appearing in the holding area of the Volusia County Sheriff's Office for them to be released. Within twenty minutes the two men were in the back of an official Army vehicle towing Cooper's Harley Davidson Road King down highway 95. They didn't speak for three days.

No one wanted to.

Cooper MacBride came back to the Pit the same way he left: as a bottom feeding worthless Greenshirt. He didn't have the obligatory Florida tan to show off his time spent in the Sunshine State though. Instead he came back with broken ribs and the same pale white skin he always had. The broken ribs were a present from Beachhead. The bottom feeding worthless Greenshirt was a gift from General Hawk. He was thankful to have both. In honesty he should have been washed out a long time ago. He disregarded orders to fulfill his own agenda. He was drunk in uniform. He was AWOL. And he was dangerously close to dereliction of duty if he wasn't already. General Rey was breathing down General Hawk's neck demanding his discharge. Hawk was the one that saved him. Being a Greenshirt was his last shot.

He didn't have the luxury of settling into his new role however. He didn't have the chance to. As soon as he hit the gates he was ordered to the infirmary. He wanted to tell Lifeline that the broken ribs weren't that serious. As an injury there wasn't much they could do except tape him up and put him on light duty. He only had to look at Doc's face to know that it wasn't broken ribs that brought him down there. Dr. Carla Greer had the same dark brown eyes as her uncle. They watched him with the same deep intensity. They were clear and intelligent. She regarded Cooper as she would any patient: clinical and professional.

She also didn't tolerate bullshit.

That in itself was an advantage. On a base full of soldiers that were more likely to lie than admit illness or injury Dr. Greer could sniff it out as good if not better than the old Doc. And this time she had Brooks by her side.

Lemar Brooks was also a Greenshirt. He was usually joined at the hip with Todd Popelka. Where one was the other wasn't far behind. Both of them hated him. They had every reason to. Cooper MacBride was the one that broke his nose. It wasn't packed with gauze anymore but barring plastic surgery the large black man would always have a lifetime reminder.

He grinned as Dr. Greer crossed her arms.

"Don't make this difficult for me Private MacBride." Dr. Greer said. She of all people reinstated that Cooper wasn't at the top of the food chain any more. He was now and would be a Private.

"I think you know why General Hawk sent you here. There were some concerns on the last mission. And not just from General Hawk. He and I feel it would be in your best interest to be observed for the next few days. It's just until I agree you're medically stabilized. Lifeline informed me that you missed several doses of medication. I don't have to explain to you the risks and side effects that can bring. I will make it easier on you and allow you the privacy of handing over your clothes and boots to Brooks. If you are armed he will place it in the Armory until I deem you are fit for duty."

She looked over. "When he's finished bring him to Exam Room 3." She said.

Brooks smiled. "Yes ma'am." He said.

He should have expected as much. In hind sight it was obvious. With his past history the medical team would be especially careful. He could be unpredictable. Lifeline told them he was off his meds. They couldn't have suspected anything less. They were prepared.

Cooper had the experience of watching all of his bodily possessions being catalogued and accounted for. The last time he was placed in a four by eight cell to dry out while General Hawk decided what to do with him. It was the same then and it was the same now. For each article of clothing Brooks added it to a paper bag. He wrote down every description from hat to boots to keys on a clipboard containing his medical file. When he was finished he repeated word for word what he wrote down. Then and only then did Cooper sign his name at the bottom of the form where Brooks stapled it to the bag.

He tore the carbon copy from the bottom and placed it in his chart.

"You'll get these back when you're discharged." Brooks said.

He handed him the thinnest hospital gown he had ever seen. It was so large it could have swallowed Roadblock whole. The strings wrapped around his waist where he tied it in front. The neck and shoulders draped on his throat. Brooks gave him an equally universal size of white paper pants with the seam on the outside and a flimsy elastic draw tie in the front. His socks came in a plastic bag. When it came to psychiatric patients Dr. Greer couldn't take the chance that anything could or would be used as a weapon; either against themselves or against others.

Cooper only wished it wasn't Brooks that had to witness it.

He turned around. When he looked back over Brooks had purple nitrile gloves on. He must have seen his face.

"Relax MacBride it's not that kind of exam." He said. "Doc Greer wants me to get some labs to check your liver enzymes, B12, Vitamin D, CBC, and some electrolytes before she starts. That much drinking packs a punch. We're going to have to flush you out overnight with some I.V. fluids. You're not going to feel much like eating once it hits you. Make a fist but no hitting this time."

It was a lame joke.

Cooper MacBride expected Brooks to stab him in the eye let alone his arm. To his surprise the Greenshirt floated the catheter in like butter. He barely felt it. It was over before he knew it. He opened and closed his hand. The IV was taped to the back.

"Medic training in Kirkuk" Brooks explained "Follow me."

Exam Room 3 consisted of a long tiled counter full of cotton balls, Q-tips, a box of gloves and a shallow stainless steel sink. On the wall was a red biohazard sharps container, a blood pressure machine, and an otoscope. There were two black plastic chairs and a shortened gurney with paper pulled over the top. The whole room smelled like antiseptic. Dr. Greer sat in one chair and waved Cooper MacBride to the other. She had a chart in her hands. Brooks stood in the corner out of the way but still near enough in case there was trouble.

"I'm admitting you into the psychiatric unit under medical supervision until Dr. Rich can meet with you and I can manage your progress. This can be done either voluntarily or involuntarily." Dr. Greer said. She glanced over at Brooks to make her point. "I have to tell you Cooper that I don't need your permission. After reviewing the circumstances surrounding the events in Cape Canaveral, myself and Dr. Rich, and General Hawk agree. The manner is completely up to you. What will it be?"

He couldn't give a straight answer. His head was too screwed up. In the past month he was relegated to being a Greenshirt. He lost his position as head sniper, his apprentice, and his best friend. He spent four weeks in an alcohol induced haze of highway, God, and impossible choices. Like Sierra Gordo the night spent in the marshes of Cape Canaveral would haunt him for the rest of his life.

"It seems like a lot of trouble for a guy in a dress and paper pants on." He mumbled. "I'm not Snake Eyes." He said.

The room was humorless.

Dr. Greer and Brooks stared at him unblinking.

Cooper MacBride never felt so low in his life.

With nationwide outcry at the care and treatment of its veterans and patriots the public demanded change. As a result the current administration allotted millions of dollars of the Defense Department budget towards support for the troops. The result was a glut of psychiatrists, psychologists, psychotherapists, family counselors, 1-800 numbers and every long haired hippie bleeding heart and dog whisperer this side of Kumbaya. For a man with Cooper MacBride's history he was every analyst's dream. The system was practically salivating to get their hands on him.

Dr. Greer wasn't having it.

"You've _given_ us a lot of trouble Cooper. Don't make it more." She said.

He shifted. It wasn't every day he was the one being scrutinized. Normally he was the one setting his sights on someone. It was a foreign feeling. It made him uncomfortable.

Cooper shrugged but couldn't meet her eye.

"It's not like I have anything better to do." He said.

The truth was he had nowhere else to go. The Pit was the only home he knew. Being a sniper was the only thing he knew _how_ to do. Except for a sister he rarely saw and knew even less about G.I. Joe was the only family he had. Una hadn't talked to him in years. The Pit was the only place he could turn to. General Hawk was giving him one last chance. If he lost it now he risked losing his position, his rank, his military pension, and his medical benefits.

It wasn't just financial though.

He could count on one hand his closest friends and they were all in the Pit together: the Drill Sergeant Beachhead, his girlfriend Cover Girl, Cooper's apprentice Trick Shot, Daina Janack the female night sniper and winner of the competition American Sniper, and Charlie Iron-Knife aka Spirit. He owed each of them for their loyalty and trust. But most of all he owed Beachhead. He was the last to give up. Through the fights, the drunkenness, the nightmares and disappointments, and finally the betrayal, he still stood by him. Cooper had a long way to go before he could earn that kind of friendship back.

So when Dr. Greer handed him a paper cup full of meds he tipped his head back and swallowed. She didn't leave until she was confident Cooper took them.

"Dr. Rich will see you in the morning in order to evaluate your treatment." She said. "Until then I am placing you in lock down for your safety. It's standard protocol for any psychiatric patients within the first twelve hours. Afterwards you will be given freedom of movement based upon your response to your care. Do you have any questions?"

He took a deep breath and shook his head.

It was the first time Cooper saw Dr. Greer's eyes soften. She seemed to genuinely sympathize. When she did she looked exactly like her uncle. He had no choice but to follow. She didn't need Brooks to show him the way. He went willingly behind her. They passed a station that held multiple security screens. The door she showed was ten inches thick with metal bars locked into the wall. On the left was a single toilet minus a seat. Beyond that was a blank room with a grey cushioned mattress laying on the floor. It was the only furniture. In the corner was a camera for observation.

He thought the last sound he would hear was the clanging of the metal door. He turned around. Brooks came with a two liter IV of normal saline and a syringe.

"Alright let's get this party started." He said. "Here comes the Vitamin A."

Vitamin A was just another word for Ativan and it would knock out an elephant.

He looked at Brooks.

"I have nightmares." He said.

"Yeah I know. I'm Rat-Face remember?" Brooks said. "Say goodnight Gracie."

Cooper MacBride held out his hand. At this point he wanted nothing more than to fall into a dreamless chemical induced oblivion where he didn't have to deal with nightmares or memories or the outside world. Here there would be no more addictions. There would be no more night sweats. There would be no more guilt to wake up to. When the plunger hit the medicine sting came as a relief.

He welcomed it willingly.

End Chapter One

Fine Again

It seems like every day's the same  
and I'm left to discover on my own  
It seems like everything is gray  
and there's no color to behold  
They say it's over and I'm fine again, yeah  
Try to stay sober feels like I'm dying here

And I am aware now of how  
everything's gonna be fine one day  
Too late, I'm in hell I am prepared now,  
seems everyone's gonna be fine  
One day too late, just as well

I feel the dream in me expire  
and there's no one left to blame it on  
I hear you label me a liar  
'cause I can't seem to get this through  
You say it's over, I can sigh again, yeah  
Why try to stay sober when I'm dying here

And I am aware now of how  
everything's gonna be fine one day  
Too late, I'm in hell  
I am prepared now,  
seems everyone's gonna be fine  
One day too late; just as well

And I'm not scared now.  
I must assure you,  
you're never gonna get away  
And I'm not scared now.  
And I'm not scared now. No…

I am aware now of how  
everything's gonna be fine one day  
Too late, I'm in hell  
I am prepared now  
seems everyone's gonna be fine  
One day too late, just as well  
I am prepared now,  
seems everything's gonna be fine for me  
For me; for myself.  
For me, for me, for myself  
For me, for me, for myself

I am prepared now for myself  
I am prepared now and I am fine... again

Seether


	2. If Only Tonight We Could Sleep

From Lies to Truth and Everything In Between

This one is my own.

The sequel to The Road Goes on Forever it follows the story of Low Light, Beachhead, Cover Girl, Vorona, General Hawk, Spirit and the OC Trick Shot in the aftermath of The Highwaymen.

The usual disclaimer: don't own, not making a profit

Chapter Two

If Only Tonight We Could Sleep

2200

She was a four year old barefoot girl exploring the fields and woods of Czechoslovakia the same as any other barefoot girl that preceded her. Through the millennia there must have been thousands. The roads and pathways showed. A thousand years ago the road would have been at eye level but due to the constant traffic of barefoot little girls the path was now way above her head height. It dug into the dirt like a private labyrinth just waiting for her to discover. She loved it. In her private kingdom there weren't chores to be done or a mother chasing after her or three older brothers teasing her. In her maze of dirt, grass, and roots she was the Princess of the Forest with only the limits of her imagination to guide her.

The old bomb shelter was her palace. The vines and leaves were the doorway to a magnificent hallway where baby dolls sat on broken chairs as her handmaidens and the old rusted Tommy gun was a proud bronze soldier sworn to protect her honor. It was black from misuse with a head full of yellow crust surrounding the barrel. It pointed downward as if it were her private guard waiting for her return. In here she would bow to her subjects as if she were dressed in the finest gowns with a crown of crosswort she picked from her neighbors yard. They didn't mind. The weed was aggressive and spread everywhere. They would wave and yell:

"_маленька принцеса! маленька принцеса! Остерігайтеся циган!"_

_"Little Princess! Little Princess! Beware of Gypsies!" _They laughed.

She would laugh back and bow in her powder pink jumper and used tennis shoes as if she were royalty. Vorona knew even at four years old she was the most beautiful girl in the village. Her big blue eyes and long blond hair set her apart from the rest of the natives. They were a mix of Russian, German, Romanian, and Mongol with dark skin, dark hair and slanted eyes. They tilled farms and sections of land that went so far back no one knew who owned them. To see a little girl like her was unusual.

It was the time past World War II and the Revolution. Everyone was on high alert. They never knew when the next attack would come. After thirty years of war whole cities were still prepared to run and hide. The elders still listened for the sounds of tanks and airplanes. That was where the old bomb shelter came from. It had a cistern and molded mattresses where she could nap between her adventures. Even when her mother warned her not to go she always did. It was her secret place much like a secret garden. To the rest it might be an unused bunker they could find when the planes came. To Vorona it was a majestic hall just for her.

She didn't know differently.

That all changed the year she turned ten. Daina Janack was taller than the other girls and looked the opposite. She didn't have many friends. The friends she had were in her imagination at the old bunker sitting on broken chairs. She was older now but she still went to her private palace. Her mother told her to stay away from it. She said she was getting older now and she had to stop pretending. Daina didn't listen. She wished she did.

The Western world would have an illusion built on romantic stories and songs but the truth was Gypsies were thieves and murderers and more. The time of the Gypsies in Czechoslovakia was the time mothers locked their daughters inside and the men guarded their homes with guns and pitch forks. They were dirty. They were cruel. And they would steal anything they put their hands on. They kidnapped and they raped. Their reputation was anything but romantic.

She was still a young child that bowed to baby dolls sitting in broken chairs and a rusted bronze Tommy gun that protected her honor. But the Gypsy didn't see that. He was older and perhaps thirty years old. He didn't see a palace built for a princess but a budding young girl with big blue eyes and long blond hair. She took him by surprise building a fire for the night. He only meant to stay the night in the old bunker. But when Daina appeared he had other plans. The girl was alone. No one would hear her. He smiled.

Daina Janack never felt as much pain in her life as she did in those ten minutes. The gown she thought was fit for royalty was torn against her stomach. The crown of crosswort fell across her forehead. The stretch between her legs was a rip on her skin she could never repair. Her back was a bloody testament. It seemed no matter how much she cried the man would bury himself even further pushing her face in the dirt. The baby dolls watched lifelessly. The only thing she could see was the old rusted bronze Tommy gun standing silently.

She had no other comfort.

The old man laughed when she sobbed against it. He was too busy buckling his pants and putting on his shoes. He would be gone by the morning and no one would ever see him again. That was the way gypsies lived. Daina had no idea that the old Tommy gun would still be active. To her it was just a rusted piece of metal she pretended was an old soldier that defended her honor. So when the old man raised his hands and laughed at her Daina pulled the trigger.

The recoil would sound in her ears like a memory.

From then on Daina Janack would never return to her secret palace. When she emerged again the crows were watching her. They would be the only ones that knew what happened. Vorona aka Crow never said a word.

She spent the next years trying to be anything but a delusional little girl that thought she was a princess. By the time she was sixteen Daina knew she wanted to join the Army. It was a time after Tito and the fall of Yugoslavia. The news would show wars in the streets of Kosovo and Sarajevo in Bosnia and Herzegovina. It spilled over into Czechoslovakia and in 1992 her home country fell becoming the Czech Republic.

That was when Daina Janack died and Vorona was born. Her reputation as a sniper grew from the shadows of urban combat. Going from house to house and perched in her nest at the top of the Marriott the soldiers down below would never know it was a woman that sent them to their grave. They only knew Vorona or Crow. She was an enigma and she loved it.

By then her name was infamous throughout the Eastern Block. It caught GI Joe and General Hawk's eye. So when she was approached to join she jumped at the chance. In a team as elite as GI Joe she wouldn't be objectified or seen as merely a female soldier but only a soldier. She could and would be as good if not better than the rest of her team.

That was what made it difficult for her to sit in make-up chair after make-up chair following her success as the winner of American Sniper. She was paraded across every morning news show imaginable as an example of female empowerment in the military. She had to sit prim and tight jawed when Jenny McCarthy and Barbara Walters asked her how it felt to be the first woman to win the competition. She grit her teeth when Matt Lauer asked her what it was like to be a woman in such an prestigious unit.

She thought it would never end.

That all changed when Trevor Jack announced his marriage to Roy Williams. There were protests outside of the cable channel's headquarters from both sides. The LGBT waved rainbow signs and Westboro Baptist Church waved theirs. The media forgot all about Daina Janack and focused instead on the hot topic of gays in the military. Vorona not only became the first woman to win American Sniper but also the last. The Military History Channel cancelled its season of American Sniper the minute the news hit the air.

She was happy for it. There were too many memories associated with the same questions. It was as if she was being exposed when all she wanted to do was hide. The reporters were too alike the neighbors she passed as a little girl.

_"Little Princess! Little Princess! Beware of Gypsies!" _They said.

Cooper MacBride never treated her any differently though. It was part of her attraction to him. At first she thought it was because he was shy. Then there were times she thought he was deaf. She was right on both accounts. The night sniper never talked. And when he did it was short and clipped. She didn't find out the truth until later. Cooper thought she was gay. By focusing so much on denying her sexuality she became asexual. She was never so mad in her entire life. It brought out all of the anger and hurt she held inside for twenty years.

It seemed they both had their memories and nightmares. Daina Janack put hers into the edge of a bullet. Cooper MacBride found his in the bottom of a bottle. In between they would sit on top of the Pit not saying a word. It was as if by saying something they would have to acknowledge the truth. She didn't admit it but the times they were alone on the roof was the times she felt truly safe. It was as if Cooper became the old rusted Tommy gun come to life. She knew when she was with him there was nothing that could hurt her. And in return it was the only time Cooper could honestly sleep.

The double doors to the psychiatric unit let her in with a swipe of her badge. With her newfound access Vorona could reach any secured area she pleased. She walked down the white marble hallway until she reached a nurses station filled with security monitors. On them was only one patient. At the desk Dr. Rich also known as Psyche-Out sat writing in a chart.

The iron bars that were supposed to be secured in the wall stood wide open. No one expected Cooper MacBride to make a break for it. He was too far gone. In the room he was half curled on the grey mattress and half off. A two liter bag of saline pumped in his hand and a flimsy blanket covered his legs. He faced away from her. His legs jerked and then he was still. The Ativan was working in his favor tonight. Even if he wanted to escape he would land on his face at the first step he took. Vorona watched him from the screen.

Even as she watched he twitched. He made mumblings about God and his Angels but otherwise Cooper was incoherent. He pulled at his blanket. It was cold but the man was sweating. The perspiration poured across his face and down his neck. His gown was wet in a T that spread from his neck to his shoulders and down his spine. If he knew what was going on he didn't show it. The only indication was a low moan and then an exhale of breath. Other than that the stir from the vents was the only thing Vorona heard. She rubbed her fingers through her hair.

"How is he?" She managed to ask.

Psyche-Out looked up and tapped his pen across the chart. "I'm not at liberty to discuss information about my patients but I can say that he is resting peacefully and he isn't in pain. You're welcome to talk to him but I wouldn't expect a response just yet. Dr. Greer will be weaning his medication in the morning. That will be the real indicator of his progress." He said.

Vorona shook her head. The last thing she wanted to do was wake him up. The sleep was deserved even if it was medically induced. She told Psyche-Out that. He agreed. She spent a few more minutes watching him before she turned to leave.

Psyche-Out's voice stopped her. "If you see Beachhead can you tell him? He hasn't been by to see him yet." He said.

Vorona nodded once and left.

End Chapter Two

If Only Tonight We Could Sleep

The Cure

If only tonight we could sleep  
In a bed made of flowers  
If only tonight we could fall  
In a deathless spell

If only tonight we could slide  
Into deep black water  
And breathe  
And breathe...

Then an angel would come  
With burning eyes like stars  
And bury us deep  
In his velvet arms

And the rain would cry  
As our faces slipped away  
And the rain would cry

Don't let it end...


	3. How to Disappear Completely

From Lies to Truth and Everything In Between

This one is my own.

The sequel to The Road Goes on Forever it follows the story of Low Light, Beachhead, Cover Girl, Vorona, General Hawk, Spirit and the OC Trick Shot in the aftermath of The Highwaymen.

The usual disclaimer: don't own, not making a profit

Chapter Three

How to Disappear Completely

0200

When the sting came Cooper MacBride welcomed it believing beyond hope that the Ativan would sedate even his strongest nightmares. He had enough time to lay down and close his eyes before the black velvet veil that precluded sleep washed over him. The feeling was familiar. In it he was being pulled further and further beneath the water until there was no light but the darkness, no thought or level of consciousness, no sound but the sound of blood. And most importantly there were no memories or dreams to go along with them. It was as close to death as he could possibly come.

He was completely lost in it.

He was on the floor of a psychiatric holding area with nothing but a non existent blanket and a hospital gown on. His hands were wrapped around the covers but they may as well have weighed a ton. He could as much lift them as he could carry the world. His hands were numb and his arms were useless. As much as he twisted the blanket held him down. He was too weak to untangle himself if he tried. It was as if it was fighting against gravity itself. It smothered him threatening to overtake his senses.

He couldn't hear. He couldn't see. He couldn't feel. He couldn't taste. The only thing he could do was breath.

He inhaled.

The sense of smell has the longest memory. A person could look at a photograph and remember the moment that the snapshot was taken. A person could think of a time they forgot and smile at the memory. But the sense of smell could bring each emotion related to it in an instant that was almost primal. The smell was a mix of rust and metal and mold. When the south winds blew it would waft in through the windows with no escape. It permeated everything it touched. It was his father's junkyard and the man was sitting on the trunk of an old American Motors Company Ambassador with his feet on the bumper.

Clive MacBride was a big man even to the adult Cooper. As a child his size was even more intimidating. He was past six foot with dish water blond hair and a permanent scowl. His eyes were so brown as to be black. Cooper looked so much like him no one would question his paternity. In his hand as usual was the bottle of Jack and the nightmare was the first one Cooper could remember.

"Hey Cooper long time no see." His father said.

He was back in his father's junkyard dressed in black with his signature red quartz night vision goggles on. He had the same knit cap and the same armored vest on but this time he was without the familiar Dragunov. It sat instead on his father's lap as he leaned over. He was carving into the wooden stock. Even in his dream Cooper MacBride knew his father was burning his name in the stock. It said "Cooper G. MacBride 1979".

The memory was as vivid then as it was now.

It was the night his father sent a ten year old boy in the twists and turns of the junkyard to kill twenty rats. His father was drunk. He woke him up in the middle of the night and put the gun in his hand. In the other he held the whiskey. He picked him up so fast that Cooper didn't have time to think about it. He thought it would help the boy overcome his fear of the dark. The truth was he wasn't afraid of the dark. He was afraid of his father. And every time he closed his eyes the man would be there to torment him about it.

"Twenty rats Cooper! Or you're a coward!" He said.

He thrust him through the gates past the padlocked chain linked fence with nothing but a flashlight and a pistol in his hand. The flashlight was to see the red incandescent glare of rats' eyes. The pistol was to shoot. The first ten he was so scared the rats ran away before he could aim. It seemed everywhere he turned there were red eyes staring at him. He turned as fast as he could but the rats were faster. He tried the best he could but in the background he could still hear his father.

"Twenty rats Cooper! I'm counting!" His father yelled.

The young Cooper MacBride turned around and went further into the maze of the junkyard. It was where the older cars, TV's, ancient parts, metal, and useless refrigerators sat rusting in the night. That was where the smell came from. He was in effect in the belly of the beast. Ahead of him was the flash and glare of red eyes watching him. There had to be about forty. He took aim. The rats scattered. But when they were fast, he was faster. He heard twenty shots ring in an echo around him.

He exhaled.

That was when he saw the man with the long black hair. He was a staple in his dreams. Like all of the other times he seemed to stand like an observer. The man was an intruder that wouldn't leave. He was unwanted. It made Cooper MacBride anxious. He gripped harder at the blanket. His breath came in labored gasps like fear. He sweat without knowing it.

Charlie Iron-Knife grew up on a reservation in the middle of Oklahoma. He was one of the last of his kind that survived the Trail of Tears from Georgia through Missouri and onto the lands of Oklahoma. That was a hundred or more years ago. Throughout it all the tribes that were historical enemies became an amalgam of Iroquois, Cherokee, Shawnee, and Apache. He might have been an Apache or he might have been Pueblo. No one really knew. That was the way that life was on the Indian Reservation.

Through it all the elders of his tribe tried to keep his culture alive. There were dances and there were history lessons. There were walks and there were open fires. His earliest memory was of a leathered face speaking to him in a language he didn't understand at his mother's trailer. That was the time after Leonard Peltier and his fight with the FBI. The man would spend the rest of his life in a prison in Lewisburg for his involvement with the American Indian Movement or AIM. The movie Billy Jack brought a renewed interest in the treatment of Native Americans but it didn't last long.

It didn't matter to Charlie Iron-Knife.

Politics were past his reason.

He was twelve years old when he experienced his first astral projection. The old men thought he was ready. He passed each test they put before him. That night they sent him into the desert alone. He was without food or water but the landscape was as familiar as the back of his hand. He was flying into the night stars above his native land with an eagle. He was as afraid as he was free. On it he could see everything. The smallest detail became clear in the birds' eyes. The yuccas were as green as emeralds and smelled like cactus flower and water. Bats, rodents, and antelope leaped before his shadow. He passed from dreamscape to dreamscape bypassing all thought. The shadows flickered from past, present, and future.

He never felt so alive.

That eagle would become his guide for the rest of his life. From then on Charlie Iron-Knife was known as Spirit and he was never without his eagle Freedom. He kept that information to himself.

He watched as an adult Cooper MacBride walked through the maze of his father's junkyard like he was lost in the woods. He didn't interfere. The further he walked the smaller he became until he was just a boy of ten years old. The rusted cars and disregarded electronics loomed over his head. Ahead of him was the glare of twenty rats. He didn't know how to get out. He started to cry. He wiped his nose on the sleeve of his right forearm and sat down. He didn't know he was being watched. He was slowly but surely building a tower of rat carcasses around him in a wall that was taller than he was. They were mutilated. He stacked them like a pulse of living bricks.

When Spirit stepped forward the boy looked up in surprise. If he thought what he was doing was wrong he didn't show it.

"What are you doing here? You can't be here." The young Cooper said. "Get out before the monsters come!"

"I am here to show you the way out." Spirit said.

"There is no way out. You're not supposed to be here." The boy said. He added another rat to the pile.

"And neither are you. You have been here far too long. You have done what needed to be done. It is time to go back." He said. He held out his hand.

Cooper looked hesitant.

He wiped his eyes. "I'm afraid." He said.

"There is nothing for you to be afraid of. I will be here." Spirit said.

The boy took it.

"Dad is gonna be so mad!" He yelled.

The next time Spirit saw him Cooper was a tall and lanky blond haired sniper wearing a dark knit cap that hid his curls. His M110 SASS hung across his shoulders. He had his head down. He could hear rain blow like a hurricane. It was the tropical season in Sierra Gordo and the perfect time to hunt. They were on a trail following the swell of an unknown and unnamed river. His feet were silent. Except for the water the entire jungle was still. He kneeled down. In the mud hidden by the cover of five pairs of boots was a paw print. It was as large as his hand and scratched deep before him. It dragged its back leg in three feet to five feet steps. A pattern of blood followed it. The jaguar was hurt.

Cooper MacBride studied it.

The path split between the jaguar and his target. On one side was the bifurcation leading up to a steep incline where the cat was held and on the other was the marshes of the river where he would wait to take his shot. He inhaled as he looked. He stood up. He started to climb. At the top the jaguar lay on its side. Behind its rear leg a wire snare dug deep into the tendon. That was where the blood was coming from. The cat was either too weak from running or loss of blood. It looked at him with glazed eyes. He approached carefully. Even at night he could see the sharp white points of the big cats' teeth. Its tongue panted with each breath it took. It gave a low growl.

Cooper took out the multi tool from his case. In it was a set of pliers with a sharp blade meant to cut barb wire. He kept it to cut at the fences designed to keep him out. He crouched low until he was near enough to hold out his right hand at eye level. He never looked away. The cat lifted its head to hiss but even it had to know it was too tired to fight. He slipped the edge between the wire and the cat's leg. The blood poured over it. The cat was close to hemorrhaging. It's tail swished with pain the moment he dug into its fur to cut the snare but didn't make a move to attack. Cooper tensed. He knew as soon as the cat was free it could be dangerous and turn on him. He took the chance and squeezed.

With a click the jaguar was free.

The blood stopped.

It stood up so quickly that he fell back in the mud with nothing but the multi tool in his hand to protect him from the cat standing over him. He had a moment of panic as the cat roared baring the jaws it was known for. It took a lunge forward until the only thing he could see were its yellow and black eyes directly in front of him. The cat stopped. It was so close he could feel the heat of its breath. It regarded him as much as Cooper regarded it. For some reason as either thanks or the unspoken code of one nocturnal hunter to another the jaguar didn't pounce. It smelled him instead.

And then in typical cat fashion it sat down and started to lick its wound.

When it was finished it turned to him. It seemed to be at a crossroads as well. The jaguar looked back only once before it made its move. Within two seconds it leaped towards the jungle before disappearing completely. It made its decision.

Cooper MacBride never told anyone about the incident but from then on the jaguar was a figure in his dreams he never thought of before.

He stood up.

Ahead of him Spirit watched him.

"This isn't real is it?" He said

"Some say that our dreams are the only true reality we know." Spirit said. "Come now it's time to wake up."

End Chapter Three

How to Disappear Completely

Radiohead

That there, that's not me  
I go where I please  
I walk through walls  
I float down the Liffey

I'm not here  
This isn't happening  
I'm not here, I'm not here

In a little while  
I'll be gone  
The moment's already passed  
Yeah, it's gone

I'm not here  
This isn't happening  
I'm not here, I'm not here

Strobe lights and blown speakers  
Fireworks and hurricanes

I'm not here  
This isn't happening  
I'm not here, I'm not here...

That there, that's not me  
I go where I please  
I walk through walls  
I float down the Liffey

I'm not here  
This isn't happening  
I'm not here, I'm not here

In a little while  
I'll be gone  
The moment's already passed  
Yeah, it's gone

I'm not here  
This isn't happening  
I'm not here, I'm not here

Strobe lights and blown speakers  
Fireworks and hurricanes

I'm not here  
This isn't happening  
I'm not here, I'm not here...


End file.
